


Crossing the Line

by DefSoling



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Military, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-22 13:44:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2509892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DefSoling/pseuds/DefSoling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Military AU.  Lieutenant Peeta is young but a great leader, a man Sergeant Finnick is proud to serve under.  But he is also inexperienced and flawed.  And he happens to be gorgeous, Finnick and all the other men can't help but notice.  Written for Round 3 of the Write-Me-A-Story Hunger Games Challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crossing the Line

Sergeant Finnick Odair sighed and tried to settle more comfortably in the tight space, squinting up at the sweltering midday day sun and determined to use the time to his advantage to try to sneak in a nap despite his full gear and the less than ideal conditions. He ordered the Corporal in the driver’s seat to man the radio comms as he glanced out the window. They had been sitting in these shity Humvees for hours in the middle of buttfuck nowhere, their thumbs firmly planted up their asses while they waited for the higher ups to pass down orders.

This whole deployment had been a clusterfuck, one fuck up after another.  They were Recon Marines, the best among the Marine Corps and the most highly trained sonsabitches, and the higher ups had been giving them shit missions since they set their boots on the ground.  The level of pure incompetence in the chain of command was truly astounding.

The only redeeming quality of this whole clusterfuck was their platoon’s leader, Lieutenant Peeta Mellark. Peeta was young, younger than some of the more seasoned Marines in the platoon, and Finnick affectionately teased him about being a bleeding-heart liberal.  Finnick was the most experienced Recon Marine in the platoon, highly respected by all the men and was looked up to as an unofficial leader. He had seen some officers and higher ups come and go but he truly felt that Peeta was genuinely the best leader he had ever had the privilege to serve under despite the fact that the young lieutenant was still very fresh faced.

Finnick liked that about him, he made no illusions about what he was.  He didn’t throw his weight around because he had a bar or two, but was humble and level headed. Peeta was very close to his men, the degree of separation between officer and enlisted nearly nonexistent most of the time.  Peeta was a strong leader, willing to put himself on the line for the sake of his men. Peeta also recognized Finnick’s position in the platoon and chose to work with him rather than try to stomp him down like past leaders had tried.  That had earned Finnick’s respect.

It always helped that Peeta was very easy on the eyes. It was a running joke among the men that they got the best platoon leader in the whole battalion; he had his head on straight, his ego wasn’t running the show, he wasn’t afraid to do what he had to for his men, and he also happened to have the plumpest lips that simply begged to suck cock.  Of course it was very hush hush in front of their LT, whom Finnick knew was naïve enough not to know that after so many months away from a proper woman that even the straightest men in the platoon rubbed one out thinking of Peeta’s mouth. Finnick himself was guilty of the same offense, taking the rare moment when he had privacy, or at least the illusion of privacy since the other men in his Humvee were asleep.

He couldn’t have been sleeping long when something was suddenly shaking him and he blurrily looked around, trying to find what had awoken him.  It took him a moment to realize there was a hand on the arm he had propped in the open square window, holding him in a firm grasp.  For a moment he was annoyed, angry at whoever was dumb enough to wake him, but his anger dissipated when he glanced up and spotted Peeta’s Kevlar clad head leaning down near the window.  As soon as they made eye contact Peeta was leaning away, standing up to his full height and looking out over the vast desert.

“Let’s take a walk,” he said without looking at him and Finnick didn’t need to be told twice, stepped out of the vehicle without a word to his men and falling in step with the LT, shortening his own strides to match Peeta’s pace.  Peeta happened to be the shortest guy in the platoon, just a tab bit below average height. Honestly, if he didn’t have such a commanding presence the whole platoon would have spit him out ages ago.

They stepped over the berm and walked a ways out, staying close to the platoon just in case but they were now out of sight from them.  Peeta came to a stop, never once looking at the older man beside him and instead kept his focus in front of them.  There was a small village way off in the distance but a team had already checked it out and deemed it safe. Even now, they stood with their guns hanging loosely from the straps across their chests instead of at the ready.

“Any word yet when we will be Oscar Mike, sir?” Finnick asked.

“Of course not.  The higher ups aren’t done fucking each other over yet which means we are stuck here until then,” Peeta scoffed while shaking his head.

Finnick eyed the young officer, knowing that the weight of leadership weighed heavily on him.  This was a student at an Ivy League school who enlisted and now found himself in the desert making sure all his men came back alive while spearheading an invasion in ways they weren’t trained for.  He went from worrying about exams to a few years later keeping twenty odd men alive.  With all the shit that gets tossed his way, especially in the last few weeks since their company commander’s incompetence had put them all in danger multiple times in his quest to walk away from this deployment with a medal, it was a wonder the man hadn’t crumbled yet.

“What are we doing here?” he questioned more out into the open than actually addressing Finnick. 

“Sir, your leadership is the only thing I have the upmost confidence in,” Finnick answered with perfect sincerity.

Peeta shook his head.  “Knock that “sir” shit off.  It’s just you and me out here.  We’re equals here.” 

That certainly changed things. Finnick hesitated, studying the faired haired man next to him and the lost expression on his face. Peeta didn’t let the men see this side of him, the side that was scared, tired, and disenchanted by the mission he thought he had signed up for.  The taller sergeant knew it was significant that he was here with him while the lieutenant took a moment to be human.

Taking a risk, knowing he was crossing the line between superior and subordinate, between professional and appropriate, Finnick reached out and hooked his pinky with Peeta’s.  It was a single finger, the smallest and somehow less intrusive in his mind, but the action was very much still crossing over that carefully drawn line.  Finnick’s heart raced and his body came alive as he became aware of tangled web he was spinning.

Peeta turned and eyed their linked hands, studying it as if he wasn’t really sure this was happening and needed the visual proof before he could believe it.  He stood there for a long moment, Finnick’s body humming as he watched and waited to see how the officer would react to his daring actions.  Slowly, almost robotically, Peeta looked up at him, his bright blue eyes shining, his crumbling spirit falling apart as Finnick watched 

Decisively, hating that look on his face and determined to wipe it away, he gripped the hand fully, interlocking their fingers. He stepped closer, that invisible line nearly completely crossed now as he moved into Peeta’s personal space and used his free hand to tilt his head back until his sea-green eyes locked onto Peeta’s bright blues.  He ducked his head down; sharing the same breathing space and making the height difference between them seem less vast.

Never before had he wanted to cross that line more and when Peeta’s eyes darted to his lips he almost did.  He was preparing to leap over that line with open arms, free fall into the oblivion and just lose himself, when Peeta flinched back only marginally as Finnick leaned closer.  Finnick stopped; meeting Peeta’s gaze once more and instantly he knew he wasn’t ready, not now. Even if Peeta was allowing the lines to be blurred, allowing a moment of weakness for both of them, he couldn’t justify completely demolishing the barrier between them. Peeta was still very much his leader, his superior, and he was still responsible for his life while they were here. They couldn’t cross that line, not here, not yet.

So he stepped back, never breaking their intense gaze. It was okay, Finnick understood. They weren’t done, not by a long shot, but for now they would let it rest.

“When we get home,” he started but then trailed off with all sorts of unspoken promises.  It was sweeter that way, untainted by words that would only fail to truly express everything.

Peeta only smiled.  “When we get home,” he agreed.


End file.
